


2017

by fools_seldom_write



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - US 21st c., Real Person Fiction
Genre: (as always), Angst, Blackmail, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, Kneeling, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Power Dynamics, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22511419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fools_seldom_write/pseuds/fools_seldom_write
Summary: What would have happened if Donald Trump was a little smarter, a little less lazy and a little more evil.
Relationships: Hillary Clinton/Donald Trump
Comments: 9
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Have I mentioned that I don't know anything about America?

The cuffs were cutting into her wrists. Her shoulders were hurting from being pulled back. Her ass was hurting from sitting in the same position for too long.

The room was empty except for the chair she was sitting on, the small metal table in front of her and another chair behind it.

She didn't know how long she had been here. Maybe an hour. Maybe two. It was hard to tell with no clock or any other indication for the passage of time.

The passage of time was generally hard to determine in here, which she couldn't help but feel was intentional. She took the lights being turned off and on as translating to the day-night-cycle of the outside world, and she took the first meal after waking up as breakfast and the last meal before going to sleep as dinner. She couldn't be sure that any of this was correct, or that they weren't intentionally misleading her with that, but that was all she had. Two meals a day and a way too short time spent in blissful darkness.

She hated it, every second of it. She hated the food that tasted bland at best and disgusting at worst and left her hungry more often than not. She hated the cold, bright light, so unlike natural sunlight, keeping her from getting enough sleep. She hated how impersonal and empty her room felt, something she was sure had been a conscious design choice. Well, it wasn't really her room at all. It was the cell she was kept in.

She had been arrested on February the 4th, 2017. It had been a Saturday. Fifteen days after Donald Trump's inauguration. He had barely been able to contain himself for two weeks until he kept his second largest campaign promise.

 _Lock Her Up_ . Right after _Build The Wall_.

She hadn't quite expected that, and that had been her mistake. She had let her guard down. She had underestimated Trump, had made the same mistake as during the campaigns and election. She had actually opened the door when the doorbell rang in the afternoon, without checking who it could be. Only seconds later, she had been face down against the floor of her hallway, a knee on her back, with her hands getting yanked behind her and cuffed.

She had demanded a warrant. She had demanded to see the charges they had against her. She had demanded to talk to a lawyer. Their response had been to put tape over her mouth. And at this point, she had realized that none of this was legal. They didn't have a warrant. They had no charges. They wouldn't let her talk to a lawyer. They didn't care.

They had carried her to one of the many police cars parked in front of her house. She had been long gone before she could ever have hoped to see what happened to Bill and Chelsea. To this day, she still didn't know.

Of course she had tried to ask. The first few days in her cell were spent almost exclusively trying to make contact with the guards. She had never even gotten so much as a reaction. Someone must have told them they weren't allowed to interact with her under any circumstances, because the way they all ignored her couldn't be accidental.

They brought her two meals a day and escorted her to a shower every third day. They never even made eye contact with her.

She hadn't tried to fight. She knew that at some point, she had to. She couldn't live the rest of her life like this. But she wasn't yet desperate enough to sacrifice what was left of her grace and dignity to an ill-fated escaping attempt. She had thought about it long and hard, though. Analyzed every single potential weakness, went through every possible outcome in her head. So she would be prepared for the day she would be desperate enough.

Today, though, something had changed. She had first gotten suspicious when they had escorted her to the shower the second day in a row. Maybe it had been a mistake, she had thought, but deep down she had known that today, something must be planned to happen that they wanted her clean for. After breakfast and shower, they had, for the first time ever, escorted her out of the hallway with her cell and the shower in it. They had brought her into the room she was in now, something that looked a little like an interrogation room. And here she was now, waiting.

At first, she had been anxious. Happy that at least something had changed in her daily routine. Afraid that the change might make everything worse, if that was even possible. By now, she was bored out of her mind and trying hard to ignore the growing pain in multiple parts of her body.

In her cell, although it was pretty small, at least she was able to move around. She could walk in circles, she could sit or lay down on the pallet, and she could use the toilet. This new room, on the other hand, had her staring at the wall in front of her following the same cracks with her eyes for god-knows-how-long.

In the time she had been here, she had thought up multiple theories of why she was here. The one she deemed most plausible was that they wanted to interrogate her, about her e-mails or about the allegations against Bill or about fucking Benghazi again. Maybe about all three. She also knew that she wouldn't give them a single piece of information until she saw a warrant, the charges against her and a lawyer. If they wanted something from her, they would have to earn it.

She was lost in thought about how a possible interrogation could play out, going over her planned responses once again, when she heard the door get unlocked and jumped in her seat. Panic and excitement flooded her at once, and she tried to turn her head far enough to see the door behind her. She mostly failed.

The door swung open with a creak. Heavy steps on concrete floor. The door was closed and locked from outside. It took only a second for the person who entered to step into her field of vision.

She held her breath. Now that she did not expect. Donald J. Trump, walking around the table and taking a seat in front of her. She swallowed hard.

This didn't make any sense. Of course she knew that he had been the one who got her arrested and detained here, but why would he waste his time paying her a personal visit? Did he come all this way just to taunt her? That seemed excessive and petty even for him.

"Hello." He said, folding his hands on the table in front of him. The expression on his face was unreadable.

She squinted at him. That wasn't a scenario she had played out in her head, which made her nervous. She didn't have the slightest idea about his intentions. She did know it couldn't possible be anything good, though, since he was still Donald Trump.

"Hello." She replied hesitantly.

"How are you?" He asked. As if he would care.

She felt like shit, and he already knew that. Because he was the one responsible for it. She tried not to show too much emotion as she replied. "What do you think?"

He tilted his head a bit, and looked at her as if trying to read her mind. It made her even more nervous. "I think you are probably feeling bad." He said. "Lonely, and scared, and helpless. But I can't be sure without you telling me."

She scoffed. Of course he could be sure. It was pretty obvious. He was being so casual and calm, it was making her angry. "Why are you here?" She demanded, making sure her voice was loud and hard.

Of course, he didn't let himself be intimidated this easily. It was like he expected this to happen. "I'm here to make you an offer." He said. "A deal, if you will." And he actually had the audacity to smile.

So, he wasn't just here to taunt her. That made a little more sense. But then again, what kind of offer could he make her? He already had her exactly where he wanted her - in jail. What more could he want?

He didn't wait for an answer before he continued. "Now, before I make you this offer, I will have to give you some information, so you can make an informed decision. Wouldn't be fair otherwise, would it?" He laughed a bit, more to himself than to her. "First of all, you're held here legally. The morning before you got arrested, I passed the laws making it possible to indefinitely keep people in solitary confinement for suspicion of having committed a crime. I also removed the right to a lawyer."

 _He's lying_ , was her first thought. Even he wasn't bold enough to do that. And there was no way in hell congress would have allowed that. That would be an infringement on human rights, it would be unconstitutional.

"Second of all, this morning before coming here, I legalized, what was the term, cruel and unusual punishment for people convicted of a crime or in order to get information from people who are suspected of having committed a crime."

Another lie. Another human rights infringement. Also unconstitutional. How dumb did he think she was? Did he actually expect her to believe this?

"Now, here's what's gonna happen if you decline my offer: You will get tortured. You will tell them that you are not to blame for Benghazi, and that your e-mails aren't a big deal, and that you never helped to cover up your husband's sexual assault. And they won't believe you, so they're gonna keep torturing you, until you admit to something, anything, and then you'll be convicted of a crime, and they'll keep torturing you as a punishment. And the same thing will happen to your husband and daughter. You will all be tortured for the rest of your lives."

The smile on his face sent shivers down her spine. The hair on her arms stood up. Fucking psychopath. She didn't believe that he legalized torture, but she wouldn't put it past him to have her tortured regardless. Just like he had her held here in solitary confinement regardless.

"What happens if I accept your offer?" She asked. He was right for once, she did need all the information.

There was a part of her that wanted to decline no matter the answer, because how could she ever accept an offer from someone like him? But her survival instinct was stronger than her self-respect.

"If you accept my offer, you won't be tortured. Your husband and daughter won't be tortured as soon as they confess to a crime. They will be convicted and held in solitary confinement, but I will see to it personally that they won't be subjected to cruel or unusual punishment."

 _Solitary confinement is already cruel_ , she thought. It wasn't as cruel as torture, though. "So where's the catch?" She asked. He wouldn't just pass on the opportunity to torture her and her family for nothing. He had to have something to gain.

"I wouldn't call it a catch." He said, because of course he wouldn’t. "It's a condition. If you take my offer, you'll agree to do whatever I want."

She looked at him. What exactly did he mean by this, that was the question. What did he want? What would he tell her to do?

"You know, I can only win here. If you decline my offer, I can watch you and your family get tortured. If you take my offer, I will have complete power over you. You, on the other hand, have something to lose, and you should think about that before you make a decision."

She was already thinking. He seemed to be serious about the whole torture thing, even if it was illegal. The law hadn't stopped him before. He would go through with that.

"If I take your offer, could I change my mind and opt out later on?" She asked.

He smiled. "Of course."

She didn't want to take his word for it. She knew he was a pathological liar.

"I want a contract." She said. She knew even that wouldn't completely ensure that he'd keep his word. But if she had a contract, she could hold him legally accountable. If she'd ever manage to talk to a lawyer, that was.

Trump didn't look too happy, but against all odds, he remained professional. "That can be arranged. I'll have one of my lawyers write one, and get it to you before Monday."

He got up, seemingly being finished here.

"Monday?" She asked before she could stop herself. "When is that?"

He halted and turned around to look at her again. "Another upside of taking my offer." He said. "You will know what day of the week it is."

He grinned, and more than ever he looked like a predator looking down on his prey. Like a wild animal playing with his food before he would tear her apart.

"Pleasure doing business with you." He said, and with those words, he left the room.

She heard him chatting with the guards for a minute, then one of them came in and guided her back to her cell. She was left alone, not knowing what to think about all of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Hillary Clinton studied and practiced law. But the thing is, I haven't, and I don't know shit about law. So, for the sake of not having to do ten more hours of research just for this trash fic, let's all just ignore that instead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, this second chapter is the first chapter, and the first chapter is the prologue. I decided not to name them that, though, because ao3 has a weird way of showing chapters, and I don't want it to say "Chapter 2: Chapter One". Still, I feel like it's worth mentioning, because I actually structured the story in a way that would make the prologue mostly exposition (i.e. explaining how we got here & what the plot will be) and the first chapter the transition between all that exposition and the actual story.

The contract was presented to her three days later. One of the guards passed it to her along with breakfast, just a few sites of paper and a pen, and instructed her to have it signed until dinner.

She read it around twenty times. She didn't have anything better to do either way, and she had to be careful to get this right. They wouldn't let her talk to a lawyer, so if there were any loopholes, she would have to find them herself.

There weren't any loopholes. It surprised her, but then again, it was already a shitty contract for her. One she'd normally laugh at. After so many days of solitary confinement, she didn't feel like laughing anymore.

He didn't need loopholes in his contract to screw her over. In his position, he could afford to be open about it. And she couldn't afford to do anything about it.

So, she signed it. All in all, it wasn't as bad as it could be. They had included a paragraph stating that she would be able to see Bill and Chelsea every once in a while, to make sure there hadn't been any cruel or unusual punishment. They had included a paragraph stating that her basic needs would be met at all times, including but not limited to food, water, sleep and hygiene.

Still, it was bad. She tried to calm herself by repeating how much worse it could be in her head, over and over, but she couldn't fool herself. She would have to do whatever Trump told her to, without exception, or else she and her family would get tortured for the rest of their lives.

She hoped he would be too busy running the country to use the power he would have over her, but she knew if that would be the case, he wouldn't have made the effort to visit her in the first place, or to have one of his lawyers write this contract. He cared enough to make time for it.

So her only hope was that he was indeed as uncreative as he seemed. That the feeling of having power over her, the theoretical concept of her having to do whatever he said, was enough for him. She didn't doubt that he was uncreative, but she did doubt that anything would ever be enough for him.

He had never known when to stop, and she had always thought that a man like him shouldn't have power over anything. Not his businesses, not the country, and especially not her. And now here she was.

She could still destroy the contract. Tear it to shreds and flush it down the toilet. She could still get out of it. But that was wishful thinking. Torture wasn't a realistic alternative. The choice he had left her with wasn't really a choice at all. It was blackmail. He was holding Bill and Chelsea hostage, he was holding her hostage.

Despite trying to distract herself with unrealistic hopes, of course she couldn't help but wonder what his goal here was. If he just wanted power over her, well, he already had that. He could already do to her whatever he wanted. Why was it so important to him that she agreed to it? Why did he present it as an offer instead of an order? There had to be something she was missing.

They didn't bring her dinner. One of the guards took the contract with him, another one led her out of the cell, out of the hallway for the second time since she had been arrested, and into a room she faintly remembered. It was the room where they had strip-searched her and forced her into a prison uniform after the arrest. She had tried to suppress that memory.

The guard handed her the clothes she had been wearing when she got arrested. “Put these on.” He ordered.

She was so happy about it, she almost forgot about him watching her undress. Still, she made it quick.

Did that mean she would get out of here now? Would she actually be free? She had expected to stay in solitary confinement, with Trump visiting every time he wanted something from her. But then again, she hadn’t really known what to expect.

“Will I get my phone back?” She asked.

The guard seemed a little annoyed at the question. “It’s evidence.” He said, and nothing more, but it was a pretty clear  _ no _ .

That would have been too good to be true. Still, she should focus on the good things, like getting released from solitary confinement. It was already a huge step in the right direction, and strangely enough, it gave her hope. She had lost most of her hope when Trump won the election, and the last additional bit when she was arrested. Now it seemed to be coming back.

The guard led her outside. It felt surreal after all this time, feeling the fresh air on her skin. She looked up, it was already dark, grey clouds against the black sky, stars poking out between. Was that what freedom looked like?

The wind smelled like garbage and cigarette smoke. Was that what freedom smelled like?

Everything seemed so normal. A day as any other, nothing special at all. She used to experience this every day, she rarely ever noticed what the sky looked or the wind smelled like. She almost felt safe, looking at the sky, the same sky as before the election, before everything went to shit. A little slice of normalcy, a little slice of home.

The guard pushed her forwards.

There was a car waiting for her in front of the building. A limousine, nothing too fancy, but fancy enough that she didn't have to guess who it belonged to. The guard opened the door for her, and she hesitated before getting in. It felt wrong, it felt dangerous. Like she was voluntarily stepping into the lion’s den. But she had already signed the contract, including the part that said she would also have to listen to all of Trump’s staff. She didn't have a choice.

There was a barrier between her and the driver so she wouldn't be able to communicate. She had a million questions, all asking what would happen to her now, but she knew he wouldn't answer her even if he heard her. So she just leaned back in her seat, looked at the dark ceiling of the car and imagined she could still see the sky.

It got boring quickly, and the uncertainty of her imminent future didn’t help her relax. She wished she had her phone. She needed to call her friends. She needed to see the news. Needed to know what happened to the world since she was gone.

Did the people know she had been arrested? Yes, of course, he had surely bragged about it. His second biggest promise, already fulfilled barely two weeks into his presidency. Did they also know she had been illegally held in solitary confinement? Did they know he had visited her to make her an offer?

And what did he do while she was gone? What kind of laws did he make, what kind of legislations did he pass? How big was the damage? She hoped it was only things that could be fixed again once he lost in 2020.

She didn't have a watch, they didn't give it back to her when they took it after her arrest. She wished she had it. It might be calming, seeing the seconds pass.

The drive took several hours. There wasn't a way to tell for sure, of course, but it was way too long, and her thoughts were driving her insane. She needed to know what would happen to her. She needed to know what already happened. She was completely out of the loop, and not knowing was like torture.

When they finally arrived, it was at the White House. Of course, Trump wanted to see her, and apparently he didn't want to make a secret out of it.

The air was colder when the driver opened the door for her and she stepped out. It must be the middle of the night by now. Maybe he did want to make a secret out of it. She shuddered.

The thought of running briefly crossed her mind. She didn't know what Trump would do to her. The street was empty. Only the driver could stop her and with a little luck, she could take him.

But she wouldn't get far. Without a phone or her wallet, and everyone knew who she was. Even if one of her supporters would decide to help her, hide her or give her some money, even if she could manage to escape. Bill and Chelsea were still in solitary confinement. If she broke the contract, they would get tortured. She couldn’t. She had no choice.

She followed the driver to the front door of the White House. It felt too familiar. She had worked here for four years. She had lived here as first lady for eight years. But she knew it wasn’t the same place anymore, not really. Because it was his now. And she wasn’t here as first lady or as secretary of state. She was here as a prisoner still.

The driver left again as soon as they were through the door. Another man in a suit took over for him.

“Come with me.” He said, and led her to the second floor.

On the way, she looked around, searching for familiar faces, searching for any indication as to why exactly she was here. Searching for anything.

Why the second floor? It was too private. Why not one of the offices? Why not a professional setting? Well, being professional wasn’t something he was known for. Still, being so close to where he lived now, it felt too intimate. The metaphor of the lion’s den became more prominent in her head. She tried to suppress the thought without much success.

The man led her to one of the bedrooms. It wasn’t the President’s, at least. And yet, it was a bedroom. Too private, too intimate. A bad feeling settled in her stomach and wouldn’t leave.

“You’ll stay here.” The man said and opened the door for her.

She didn’t go in. “For how long?” She asked. Maybe, if she bought time, she could get some answers. Maybe, if she refused to cooperate at least a little, just enough that she could get away with it, they would give her at least something. Anything.

She wasn’t lucky. The man pushed her inside without a word, and she heard the door being locked behind her. Well, fuck.

Why would he want her to stay here? If he was still awake, why didn’t he want to meet with her right away? If he wasn’t still awake, why did he bring her here at this time at all?

She knew she wouldn’t get any answers no matter how much she thought about it, so she settled for exploring the room instead. It was quite nice, as expected in the White House. Everything looked very expensive, and it was easily three times the size of her cell. A door led to a bathroom, complete with both a shower and a bathtub. She considered taking a shower, a long and hot one not like the ones in solitary confinement, because she hadn’t had one like this in weeks. But she was tired, and the bed looked so much more comfortable than the pallet in her cell. An actual bed that she could sleep in.

All these things she had taken for granted. Hot showers, a bed. She had taken her freedom for granted, too. She was still locked up. Still, it was hard not to appreciate the new space and comfort of the room. She ignored the locked door for now and instead decided to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

She was woken up by the sun shining bright into the room. Actual sunlight that she could feel on her skin, even if it was through glass. It was nothing like the artificial light in her cell, it was warm and soft and for just a moment, she could pretend that everything was normal.

The reality came back with the sound of the door unlocking. As soon as she heard it, she jumped up, not wanting to be found still lying in bed by whoever would come through that door.

It was a man carrying a tray with food. He put it down on the desk without a word, then went as quickly as he came, leaving the door open.

Before she could even react, someone else stepped in. She had to swallow. Trump.

He took one look at her and a smile appeared on his lips. “Good morning.” He said, almost casually, as if any of this was normal.

She blinked at him, not knowing what to say. There were a million things on her mind, and the one most important was that she didn’t want him to be here.

She didn’t want to be in the same room as her, of course, for obvious reasons. But she also didn’t want him to see her like this, after she just got up, hair disheveled, clothes crumpled from when she had slept in them. It felt way too private, way too vulnerable. He had only ever seen her in a professional setting, and she had been good with that.

He didn’t look like he expected an answer, which was good, because she didn’t give him one. He barely waited before he turned around to the door again, locked it from the inside, put the key in his pocket.

Fear quickly replaced her embarrassment. This simply couldn’t mean anything good. Being locked in a room with him. She tried to tell herself it wasn’t as bad as the last time. She wasn’t handcuffed, she could move freely, she could fight back if she needed to. But that was a purely hypothetical thought. He had just as much power over her in here as he did in the interrogation room in jail, questionably even more. She had signed a contract. She couldn't fight back no matter what he did to her if she didn’t want her family to get tortured.

He went to the desk, looked at the food there for a moment, then he picked up the tray and stepped towards her. She fought the urge to step back. It was uncomfortable to be so close to him, knowing he could do to her whatever he wanted.

He offered her the tray. “Sit down.” He said. “Eat. You skipped yesterday’s dinner and today’s breakfast. You must be starving.”

Did that mean she slept through breakfast? She wouldn't be surprised. They had never let her get enough sleep in jail, this was the first time she woke up on her own. Then again, she had no reason to believe anything he said.

Still, he was right. She was starving. She had already went to bed hungry, hungrier than usual since they also didn’t give her enough food in jail. And she had already agreed to do whatever he told her to. And he told her to sit and eat.

Hesitantly, she sat down on the bed and took the tray from him. She didn't want to eat while he was watching her so closely, it felt beyond uncomfortable. But she was also very hungry, so she did begin to eat, trying and failing to ignore him.

She watched from the corner of her eyes as he inspected the room around him. His gaze stopped at the floor next to the bed, where she had put her shoes, socks, jacket and bra before she went to bed. He looked at it for a few seconds, then he turned away, got himself the chair from the desk, put it down a few feet from the bed and sat. Like a spectator, just watching her. Why was he wasting his time with this? Didn't he have anything important to do? He was the President, for god’s sake.

She tried not to think too much about what he thought. But she was all too aware of how many lines it crossed for him to see her like this, how many professional boundaries. Save for that meeting in jail, they had only ever met as politicians. Now he was seeing a human side from her, and she didn’t like it one bit.

She thought about her bra lying on the floor next to him. Why didn't she put away her clothes properly yesterday? Well, she had been tired, and she hadn't expected him to come in right after she had only just woken up.

He wasn't meant to see that. Any of it, really, but especially her bra. It was wrong.

He didn't stop watching her the whole time. His looks burned holes into her skin, and as much as she tried, she couldn't ignore it. From the first to the last bite, she was way too aware of him just sitting there and watching her.

It made her angry. She felt the urge to make a passive aggressive comment, ask him if he didn't have anything better to do. She didn't.

She put the tray on the nightstand when she was finished. Now she didn't have an excuse not to look at him anymore. Her eyes met his.

She waited for him to say something. To explain why she was here, and what would happen to her now. To explain what he wanted from her. The seconds passed painfully slowly.

“Why am I here?” She finally asked.

He smiled again. A normal smile, but on him, everything looked predatory. She felt chills run down her back and had to look away for a moment.

“I didn't want to have to travel again to meet you.” He said. “If you just come to me, it's much easier.”

The  _ for me _ at the end was left unspoken. Of course he would do what was easiest for him. That made sense, in a way. He was selfish, and why wouldn't he use his power to choose a setting that was easiest for him? But then why did he waste his time just to watch her eat?

“And what will happen to me now?” She asked, a question she was asking herself since the arrest. She had thought she had found the answer in indefinite solitary confinement, but things had changed. Now, everything was new again. New and uncertain.

Of course she was glad her future didn't hold nothing more than indefinite solitary confinement anymore. A part of her had hope, a part of her thought it could only get better from here on out. The other part was aware of Donald Trump sitting in front of her, only a few feet away.

His smile could almost be pleasant if it belonged to a different man. But with the power he had over her, it was impossible to see it that way.

“You're going to stay here for now.” He said. “I’m gonna visit you whenever I feel like it. For the rest of the time, you're free to do whatever you want.”

_ Except leaving this room _ , she thought.

He paused for a moment, waiting whether she would answer. She didn’t know what to say. Staying here, in and on itself, was better than solitary confinement. A big room with a comfortable bed. A bathroom with some privacy, and she could take a shower or a bath whenever she wanted.

But he, he would visit her whenever he felt like it. What did that mean? What did that mean for her? She still didn't know what he was going to do to her. She still didn't know what he wanted.

“There's plenty of things for you to do to keep busy when I’m not here.” He continued. “A lot of books. A notebook and a pen so you can write.”

“And when you're here?” She asked.

He changed his position. Spread his legs and folded his hands and leaned forward. She had seen this pose from him before, always in relation to politics. That couldn't possibly mean anything good. Not that any of this meant anything good.

“Okay.” He said. “Let’s set some rules, right? You signed the contract. You will do whatever I tell you to, without exceptions. If you break the contract, you and your family will be tortured for the rest of your lives.”

Another shudder ran down her spine. She already knew all of this, but hearing him say it, it made everything more real. More definite. At the back of her head, the urge to jump out of the nearest window began to form.

“You’re not gonna try to escape. It would be impossible either way, you’re in one of the most secure buildings in the world. You’re gonna eat your meals, you’re gonna shower once a day, you’re gonna sleep at night.”

All things she would have done either way. It still felt wrong to have him tell her what to do. He wasn’t supposed to have this kind of power, to dictate what she did with her time, even if it was normal things like this.

“I understand you have had a rough couple of weeks, and this is a new situation for you, and you’ll need some time to adjust. I won’t be too strict yet, but don’t take advantage of that, and don’t think it’s always gonna be this way. I won’t hesitate to punish you.”

_ Or more accurately, to have me punished _ , she thought. As if he would get his hands dirty himself. He thought himself above such things.

His fake sympathy didn’t do anything to soothe her nerves. It almost felt like he was mocking her. He was the reason she had had a  _ rough couple of weeks _ , as he put it. That certainly was one way to phrase it. And he was the reason she was in this new situation that she wasn’t adjusted to. She strongly doubted she ever would adjust. How could it ever become normal for her to do what this man told her?

“When will I be able to see Bill and Chelsea?” She asked. The contract hadn’t specified the passage of time between the visits she was allowed with them, and she was sure he would take advantage of that. But she needed to know they were okay, as okay as one could be after weeks of solitary confinement. She had to make sure they hadn’t been tortured.

“I wasn’t finished yet.” He said. Of course he wasn’t. And he dodged the question. “You’re not gonna make demands, and you’re not gonna ask questions. You’re not gonna talk to anyone unless they ask you a question, in which case you will answer truthfully.”

He didn’t just dodge the question, he made sure she could never ask the question again. In just two sentences, he had taken away her most important skill - her words. As a politician, she had to be good at talking. Her words had brought her sixty-five million votes. And of course he knew that, which was probably why he made sure to forbid her from talking. Damn him! A whole new feeling of powerlessness washed over her as she realized what this meant for her.

“Have you understood?” He asked. The first test.

She clenched her jaw, bit back a snarky comment. “Yes.” She said instead.

And his smile was back. He wasn't hiding how much he enjoyed this. Why would he?

“That’s all for now.” He said. “I look forward to our next meeting.”

He left the room and she was left feeling sick to her stomach. Someone collected the tray from her nightstand and then she was alone with her spinning head and the feeling of dread that had settled deep inside her bones.

And she still didn't know when she would be able to see her family.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the last finished chapter I have. So either I'll finish the next chapter quickly, or I won't upload a new one next week. Probably the latter.

He didn't come back the next day, or the day after that. She had plenty of time to explore the room, and overthink everything that happened and would still happen.

He hadn't lied about the books or the notebook. The books were, well, they were okay. She found The Art of The Deal, as she should have expected, but she also found her own book, Hard Choices, which was enough to surprise her.

She re-read it, one time, two times, three times. It gave her comfort, reminded her of a better time, before all this.

She was tempted to write. Tempted to get these feelings and thoughts out, because they were too much, because she didn't want to keep them in her head. But it didn’t feel safe, in here, knowing he could read it and there would be nothing she could do to stop him. Her thoughts and feelings were her own, they weren't for him to know. He could take everything from her, but not that.

He came back on the third day, at afternoon. It was refreshing to at least know the approximate time, being able to read it in the sky. She spent a lot of time at the window, looking outside, wishing she could just go. The windows only opened half-way, a safety measure, she presumed. She wouldn't have tried to jump from this height, but she had thought about it regardless.

She was standing at the window when he came in. He locked the door from the inside again, grabbed the chair again, positioned it a few feet from the side of the bed again. Would this become a routine now?

“Please, sit.” He said, gesturing towards the bed.

She sat down at the side opposite from him, wanting to keep as much distance as possible. Of course, it would have been too much to hope for him to let her.

“The other side.” He said.

She sighed quietly, accepting her fate and walking around the bed, sitting down again. Her heart was already beating too fast, and being so close to him didn't calm her down one bit.

“Put your feet up.” He said. “Lean against the headboard. I want you to be comfortable.”

She actually had to suppress a laugh. What he said wasn’t funny, and she definitely didn’t feel like laughing in this situation. Still, him saying he wanted her to be comfortable was so ironic, she had to make an effort not to laugh. Maybe she was already going crazy.

But it was ridiculous. He had gotten her arrested and held in solitary confinement for weeks. He had threatened to torture her and her family if she didn't do what he said. How could he even say that with a straight face, after everything he had done to make her life a living hell?

But she did put her feet up, and she did lean against the headboard.

He took a look at her nightstand. “You’ve been reading your own book?” He asked, his tone neutral against all expectations. She would have expected him to mock her.

“I have re-read it, yes.” She said.

He looked at her, almost curious. “But?” He asked.

“But?” She repeated, playing dumb. Of course she knew she had wanted to put a  _ but _ behind that sentence, and she also knew that her tone had given it away. She had re-read it, yes, several times, but that wasn’t the reason it was on her nightstand. She could’ve put it back on the shelf. It was a reminder.

“It sounded like you weren’t finished yet.” He said.

She didn’t answer. She knew he wanted her to answer, but according to himself, she wasn’t even allowed to. It would break her contract. He had told her to only speak to answer questions, but he hadn’t phrased that as a direct question. She was justified in keeping silent.

He sighed audibly. “Okay.” He said. He seemed to think for a moment. “Get up.”

She got up. An uneasy feeling crept up on her, more than just the discomfort and fear she always felt around him.

“Come here.”

She didn't want to get even closer to him. She was already way too close. She breathed in and out, tried not to think about what she was doing as she forced herself to take a step forwards, and another, and another, until she stood right in front of him. He could reach out to her and touch her if he wanted to, and she shuddered at the thought.

He just looked at her for a few seconds before he continued speaking. “Get on your knees.”

Her brain had trouble registering the words at first. It was like they were spoken to her through a thick material, or from far away, barely audible. A feeling of surrealism flooded her at once, burying her. This wasn't real. This couldn’t be real. She was frozen in place.

“What?” She asked without fully realizing that she did. She wasn’t even aware that she had broken the contract right there, disobeyed him, and he could just send her back to solitary confinement, send her to be tortured.

He didn’t. He repeated himself. “Get on your knees.” He said again, a little slower and a little louder this time, to make sure she would catch it.

But it wasn’t the manner in which the words were spoken that she had trouble with. It was their meaning.

He wanted her to get on her knees. Why was she even surprised about this? It was one of the most common displays of submission, and he had made it clear that he wanted power over her, enjoyed power over her. She should have seen this coming from miles away, from their first meeting in the interrogation room.

She knew she had no choice. She had known that for days now. She should have mentally prepared herself for it, instead of just dreading it and trying to distract herself. Now she had to think and act quickly.

She had been on her knees before. In front of Bill, in front of Chelsea. For wildly different reasons. When Chelsea was little, it had been easier to kneel than to lean down, and way better for her back. With Bill, well, that wasn’t anything she wanted to think about while she was anywhere near Trump.

But those had been people she loved. How could she bring herself to get on her knees in front of someone she hated? Not to do someone she loved a favor, not to get on the same height as someone she loved. But because he demanded it, because he blackmailed her, because he forced her to.

She just had to get it over with. It wouldn’t do anything if she just kept standing here thinking about how much she didn’t want to do this. She already knew that. But she also knew that she wanted even less for her and her family to get tortured.

It wasn't that hard. She just had to command her legs to move. She knew how to move her legs. She had done it a million times.

She lowered herself, slowly, carefully. Bent her knee, put her foot behind her. She was halfway there. Her second leg followed. She was kneeling in front of Donald Trump. Fuck. She was actually kneeling in front of Donald Trump.

And he wasn’t just smiling anymore, he was full-on grinning, not even bothering to play down how much he enjoyed this. She felt sick again. She wanted nothing more than to just puke right into his ugly face. Now that would be satisfying.

She looked down. She couldn’t stand looking him in the face, not in this position, not when she had to tilt her head up in order to look at him. Not when he had this disgusting grin on his face.

“ _ That must be a pretty picture, you dropping to your knees. _ ” He said.

Of course she knew this quote. It always got featured on the lists with his worst quotes. She knew most of them.

He was quoting himself, seemingly amused of how fitting it was for this situation.

She had to actively try not to gag. Being reminded of all his sexist quotes, being reminded of the way he treated other women, it just made everything worse. He was a rapist. He had bragged about sexual assault.

And the worst thing was, she hadn’t even thought about this yet. He had called her ugly before. He had never shown any sexual interest in anyone over forty, save perhaps for Melania, but they married when she was younger. The thought that he could be interested in her, in that way, it hadn’t even crossed her mind. And the timing of it crossing her mind now wasn’t the best, either.

That would be so, so much worse. The urge to throw herself out of the nearest window was back again, stronger than ever. Except she now knew even that would be impossible, as the windows didn’t open fully. There was no way out. He had complete power over her. And if he wanted to use this power to… to… He could use this power for anything and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

She could feel herself full-on panicking by now. It got harder to perceive her surroundings, she couldn't breathe, the world was spinning. Was that what an oncoming panic attack felt like?

“That will be all for now.” He said and got up again. Put the chair back to its original place at the desk. She just kept kneeling there, didn't know what else to do, her brain too foggy to make a decision.

As soon as he was out of the door, she broke down crying, and didn’t stop for almost an hour. It all just got too much, everything that had happened and everything that could still happen, crashing down on her at once.

He could rape her. Even putting this possibility into words inside of her own mind felt so wrong, so disgusting.

And the worst thing was, it would make sense. Why he would pass on having her and her family tortured. Why he would allow her three meals a day, permanent access to a shower and a comfortable bed. She had wondered what he had to gain, besides a feeling of power that he already had. Was that his plan?

She could only hope, pray to God that he really did think she was ugly, that he really didn’t have any interest in anyone over forty. It was still horrible, that her only hope was that she was too old and ugly for him to rape her. Even thinking of that as a hope, to know that this was the better alternative. How did this happen?

And she knew, if she was younger, he wouldn't have hesitated. She tried not to think about it, but she knew it was the truth. If she was younger, he would have already raped her.

And to know that a person like this had power over an entire nation, had the nuclear codes, claimed to have already changed the Constitution to fit his goals. How could America ever recover from this? How could she ever recover from this, even if she made it four years?

She almost forgot about that. Four whole years she would be trapped in this hell. That was plenty of time for him to decide to rape her. How could she ever get through this?


End file.
